Mean Little People

by Dearth, Paige

  “What the fuck are ya staring at?”

  Tony took a step backward. “Nothin’.”

  “You friends wit’ my little piss-ass brother?”

  Tony shook his head.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tony. What’s yours?”

  “Richie. I’m Vincent’s older brother. Hey, ain’t ya that kid that kicked Vincent’s ass last week?”

  Tony nodded.

  “Good. Good for you. My brother is a little asshole. Steals my shit, ya know?”

  Tony shrugged.

  “Well, if ya see the bastard, tell him to get the hell back here. The longer he waits, the worse I’m gonna give it to ’im.”

  Tony remained silent and walked back to his house. As he passed an alleyway, he glanced in. He saw Vincent leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

  “You all right?” Tony said.

  Vincent looked over at Tony, his face wet with tears.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Ya don’t look fine. Your brother is lookin’ for ya. He said if I see ya to tell ya to go home.”

  Vincent kicked the brick wall.

  “I hate him! I hate Richie, and I’m not goin’ home.”

  Tony was confused. His emotions were playing at odds. He wanted to help the boy with his pain, but Vincent had also been the source of his own pain for several years. Tony stepped closer to Vincent.

  “Your brother, Richie, give ya those marks on your arm?”

  Vincent rubbed his forearm, as if he could erase the finger marks that lingered like haunting purple shadows over his flesh. “Yeah.”

  “He always do stuff like that to ya?”

  “Yeah, he’s a jerk-off. I was only four when my dad died. After that, my ma had to get more jobs. She’s got three jobs now. She told Richie he’s the boss since he’s older. He’s been hittin’ me ever since my ma started workin’ so much.”

  Tony felt a connection. “My dad hits me.”

  The boys fell silent. Tony was thinking about Vincent’s circumstances, seeing him in a new light. He never would have imagined that Vincent was picked on.

  “Um…ya wanna come to my house? My ma baked cookies today,” Tony said.

  Vincent nodded. “Why ya bein’ nice to me?”

  Tony shoved his hands in his front pockets and smiled. “Dunno. I figure I already kicked your ass, so I ain’t got nothin’ to lose.” Tony grew serious. “I guess I know how ya feel. I mean, it sucks bein’ picked on and beat up all the time.”

  “Yeah.” Vincent felt suffocated in the vine of shame that strangled him in a tight embrace.

  When they walked into Tony’s house, Teresa looked up from her sewing. She recognized Vincent as the boy Tony had beat up on his communion day.

  “What’s he doin’ here?” she said.

  “It’s OK, Ma. Vincent and me are gonna have some cookies.”

  “Oh yeah? So now all of a sudden you’re bein’ friends wit’ Tony?” she asked Vincent.

  Vince shrugged. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, you’re sorry all right.” Teresa grabbed Tony by the shoulder. “Why ya hangin’ wit’ this kid? Ya sure he ain’t usin’ ya like Marco did?”

  “Nah. It’s all right. I invited him to come here. Vincent’s big brother hits ’im. He ain’t got nowhere else to go.”

  “Oh. I see,” Teresa said, softening the tone of her voice.

  “Well you two go ahead and have some cookies. Don’t let me find out you’re screwing wit’ Tony again. Ya hear?”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Bruno,” Vincent said obediently.

  “Call me Mrs. B.”

  Teresa listened intently as the two boys chatted in the kitchen and munched on cookies. It seemed odd to her, but Tony and Vincent got along as if they had always been friends. She felt a stroke of happiness ripple through her body. Teresa made the sign of the cross and softly whispered, “Please, God, don’t let this kid be cruel to my son, or I’ll break his fuckin’ neck. Amen.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day, when Tony got onto the bus, Vincent waved him into the back.

  “Hey, Tony,” Vincent said, “ya wanna sit wit’ me?” “Sure.”

  “Hey, what the hell ya doin’, Vincent? We don’t want Bruno sittin’ wit’ us. Did ya forget he kicked your ass?” Patton taunted.

  “Shut up, Patton, or I’ll smash your face in,” Vincent said through clenched teeth. “Tony and me talked, and now we’re friends. Anybody got a problem wit’ that?”

  “I gotta problem wit’ it, and so do the rest of the guys, right?” Patton said. He looked to the other delinquents in his group, and they all nodded.

  “Yeah, well, too bad. If ya got a problem wit’ it, ya can go sit up front wit’ the girls,” Vincent said.

  Marge, the school bus driver, kept an eye on what was happening. Something had changed for Tony. But still, just to be certain it wasn’t a cruel prank, she monitored the boys until they got to school.

  “Tony, I wanna talk to ya a minute,” Marge said, as Tony was about to leave the bus.

  Tony sat in the front seat behind Marge until the bus was empty.

  “So now you’re friends wit’ those boys?”

  “Nah. I’m only friends wit’ Vincent. The other boys still don’t like me, and I think they ain’t gonna like Vincent no more ’cause of it.”

  Marge took a sip of the cold, stale coffee she had bought before she started her bus route. Her nose wrinkled up, and she stuck her tongue out. Marge abandoned the coffee and turned her attention back to Tony. “Ya listen to me real good. Those little brats ain’t nothin’ but trouble. If you’re friends wit’ ’em, I want ya to know that. I see ’em stealin’ and pushin’ the other kids around. Ain’t never gonna turn out to be respectable men actin’ like that, ya understand?”

  “Yeah, I ain’t like that, though. I’m only gonna stand up for the things that are important to me. I ain’t never gonna steal from people for no good reason. I’ll only steal if we need extra food or somethin’ like that.”

  Tony’s face turned bright red. He hadn’t meant to admit that to Marge; it had slipped out. But Marge listened with mild amusement. Tony was such a stoic kid, seemingly older than his nine years.

  “Well, it ain’t good to steal from nobody, but I’m talkin’ about the kids ya go to school wit’. Some of ’em, their parents got a little more and some a little less, but you’re all in the same place when it comes to not havin’ everything you need. You’re a good boy, Tony, and I want ya to stay that way. Ya got a good heart. Ya be nice to people, got it?”

  “Got it, Marge. I gotta go before the bell rings.”

  “OK, Tony. Ya have a nice day now.”

  Tony got off the bus, and seeing Vincent, he headed over to where his new friend was waiting.

  “What did she want?”

  “Uh, she just wanted to see how my ma was doin’. That’s all,” Tony lied.

  The two boys were disrupted by a crowd that quickly gathered in the far end of the schoolyard. Tony and Vincent rushed over to see what was happening.

  “Knock it off!” Marco screamed at Patton and two other boys.

  Patton stepped closer and slapped Marco in the head. As Tony looked on, watching Marco, it was as if he was looking at his old self. His blood rushed to his chest, and he dashed between Marco and Patton.

  “Leave ’im alone, Patton. You’re always pickin’ on somebody,” Tony said.

  Patton pushed Tony in the chest with both hands. “Oh yeah? What are ya gonna do it about it?”

  Tony balled his hand into a fist and socked Patton in the face. Patton was momentarily shocked but quickly regained his wits. He grabbed Tony by the collar and punched him. The two boys hit the ground hard, both swinging at each other. Once Tony started to lose his battle, Vincent dove in and pulled Patton off of him.

  “What’s your problem, Vincent? Tony your girlfriend now?” Patton said, breathlessly.

  Unable to control h
is temper, Vincent punched Patton in the face, and he dropped to the ground in a heap. Tony got up and walked up to Marco. “See, it ain’t so nice bein’ picked on and havin’ no friends. You’re lucky I helped ya this time, Marco, but that’s it.”

  Tony and Vincent walked slowly to the front of the school.

  “Why did ya go and do that?” Vincent asked.

  “’Cause it wasn’t a fair fight. I’m sick of all this crap. If someone does ya wrong, then ya fight. It’s stupid to fight for no good reason.”

  Vincent stopped walking and gawked at Tony.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

  Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I feel.”

  Tony wasn’t certain how he felt about anything. He hoped that one day he would figure it all out. A lot had changed rapidly in his small world. Tony wanted to live up to the standards that his mother and Marge preached to him. However, there was something in his blood, a hidden desire, a force that made him feel out of control.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Tony was in seventh grade, he had left the scrawny, scared boy behind. He was the biggest kid in his class. Tony was tall, and lifting weights had made his muscles hard and thick. He and Vincent were like brothers. They did everything together, and Vincent had become like a second son to Teresa. Carmen’s cruel behavior remained intact, always keeping Tony on edge. Tony never knew when his father would fly off the handle for no good reason and beat him or his mother. The older he became, the more responsible Tony felt for allowing his father to continue his torment.

  Tony finally stood up to his father the day Carmen took his anger out on Macie.

  “Macie, go get the newspaper off the porch,” Carmen ordered.

  “But I’m in my pajamas,” she whined.

  Carmen inched up to the edge of his seat. “What did I just tell ya to do? Does it look like I give a shit what you’re wearin’? Go get the goddamn newspaper. Now!” Carmen growled and slapped Macie on the top of her head.

  Tony heard the exchange from the kitchen, and his stomach rumbled and dropped. I have to protect Macie at least, he told himself. Tony walked out into the small living room and glared at his father, an act that got Carmen’s attention.

  “What the hell are ya lookin’ at, ya little prick?” Carmen sneered.

  “Nothin’ much.”

  Carmen stood and removed his belt. “Who do ya think you’re talking to, boy?”

  Tony stood firm—he didn’t move; he didn’t blink; he stared at his father with pure hatred. He could feel his hands shake, and he placed them firmly on his own hips. Carmen stared back with hatred in his eyes, as if he wanted to beat the hell out of Tony.

  “Tony?” Teresa said, breaking her son out of his trance.

  Tony looked over at his mother. “You stay wit’ Macie; I’ll go get the newspaper,” he said to his mother in a serious tone.

  Tony came back inside a few seconds later and threw the newspaper at his father’s feet. Carmen jumped up out of his chair. “That’s it! I’ve taken enough shit from ya. Ya think you’re some badass now? Is that it? Well, let’s see how bad ya really are.”

  Tony stepped closer to his father; at five foot ten, Tony was almost as tall as Carmen now. “Ya know, Dad, maybe you oughta act like you care. It ain’t all about you all the time. Don’t ya think we’re sick of puttin’ up with all the stuff ya dish out? We’re sick and tired of ya pushin’ us around and beatin’ on us.”

  Carmen punched Tony in the side of the face and then followed up with a kick to his groin. He stood back, a twisted smile playing on his mouth as he admired his work. Tony was in a ball on the floor holding his crotch, rocking back and forth. Satisfied, Carmen grabbed the newspaper and took it up to his bedroom.

  “Tony, why do ya instigate ’im like that? Ya know he’s an asshole. There ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna change that,” Teresa whispered.

  Tony was gasping. He focused his mind on breathing, but his anger boiled deep in his throat like hot lava. “He’s a dick, Ma. Dad’s a big dick. He’s been pickin’ on me since I was little, and I hate his guts.”

  “Listen here, Tony. I know what you’re sayin’. I know ya hate what your father does to us, and I hope someday, when ya find the woman you’re gonna marry, that ya treat her like a queen. Ya remember how your father makes ya feel if ya ever think about bein’ mean to your kids. That’s the best thing ya can do,” Teresa said.

  “That’s not the best we can do. Why don’t we leave here and go live somewhere else? Why do ya wanna stay here wit’ ’im?”

  “Your grandparents would never approve of me runnin’ out on your dad for gettin’ slapped around—they’d say that ain’t no good reason. Besides, we ain’t got nowhere else to go. Where would the three of us live? I don’t make enough money from my job for us to be on our own,” Teresa said in a hushed voice.

  “Well, I hate ’im, and as soon as I can move outta here, I’m gonna,” Tony stated and stomped out of the room.

  Teresa knew that Tony was right. She’d been raised with the idea that a husband and wife stayed together through thick and thin. Her parents would have never supported such a silly decision, and Teresa had abandoned thoughts of leaving Carmen years ago. It was true that Carmen beat Teresa, but her father had done the same thing to her mother. Her parents were still together, and age had mellowed them. Teresa had always believed that the same fate was awaiting her.

  A few hours later, after Carmen left the house, Tony sat next to Macie and stroked her thin, limp hair. Macie wasn’t at all like Tony. Her eyes were closely set, her nose was too big and her nostrils spread across the sides of her small face. She was curled up against his leg. Turning his full attention to his mother, Tony noticed the deep lines around her eyes and mouth. The years hadn’t been good to her—the worries about money and her children and enduring the relentless poor treatment at the hands of her husband were taking a toll. Tony saw it all now, and he vowed to himself that someday, if he ever got married, he would be nothing like his father.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was Tony’s first day of eighth grade. He hated school and would have preferred to wander the streets of South Philadelphia than to sit in a classroom listening to his teachers drone on about a bunch of things that happened a hundred years ago.

  Tony and Vincent had just entered their homeroom class and taken their seats. The teacher was mumbling through the roster as the children recited, “Here,” at the sound of their names.

  Before the teacher could finish his roll call, the principal showed up at the classroom door with a boy standing next to him. The boy was shorter than Tony, with dark-brown hair and eyes the color of honey. His olive skin revealed his Italian heritage. Tony elbowed Vincent.

  “What?”

  “Look, don’t we know that kid from somewhere?”

  Vincent flicked his pencil back and forth between his fingers, pretending he would hurl it at the kid. “Yeah, he sorta looks familiar. Where ya think he’s from?”

  “Dunno. What’s with the dress pants and button-down shirt? He looks like he’s ready to go to church or somethin’,” Tony said.

  Vincent waved a dismissive hand. “How the fuck do I know? Maybe he’s a fuckin’ momma’s boy. All I know is he looks weird.”

  It was almost noon when the bell rang indicating it was time for lunch.

  “It’s about time. I’m starvin’ over here,” Tony said, trailing the other teens toward the cafeteria.

  Tony and Vincent sat at a table alone eating their lunches. They were talking about their weekend plans to hang out in Packer Park and the possibility of scoring a feel from two girls that liked them.

  “Yeah, I heard Rita will give a guy whatever he wants if ya tell her she’s pretty,” Vincent joked.

  “She ain’t just pretty—she’s Miss fuckin’ America if that’ll get me laid,” Tony said.

  The boys were interrupted by a crowd of teens from the other side of the cafeteria
who had gathered in a circle. They were yelling and laughing. Most of the girls huddled together in a corner with their hands covering their mouths. Tony and Vincent bolted over to the circle of boys. In the center was the class bully, Rex; his oversized teeth, slightly bucked and crooked, were clenched together, accentuating his protruding forehead and clown-like nose. Rex was ugly inside and out, the type of kid that adults want to clobber for acting unruly in public. Rex sat on top of the new boy, alternating his slaps on either side of the kid’s face. The new kid was bleeding from just below his right eye and his nose. Rex, oblivious to the damage he was doing, just kept pounding away at the boy, as though if he kept it up long enough, the kid would dissolve and become one with the beige speckles of the dreary old tile floor.

  “Open your fuckin’ eyes and watch me kick your little bitch ass,” Rex screamed.

  “Whoa,” Tony said, pulling Rex up by his shirt.

  “Stay the fuck outta it, Tony,” Rex yelled.

  “Who the hell are ya yellin’ at?” Tony’s annoyance was apparent.

  The other boys stopped cheering when they saw Tony curl his hand into a fist and land the first punch on the side of Rex’s face. The boy dropped to the floor next to the new kid.

  Tony turned to the new kid and extended his hand to help him up. The new kid’s adrenaline was pumping, and he was angry as hell. He reached for the napkins on the table next to him to sop up the blood on his face and dripping from his nose.

  “Goddamn, fucking idiot,” the new kid stated.

  Tony and Vincent snickered.

  Tony watched the new kid. “Yeah, Rex is a total douchebag. He starts shit where there ain’t none. What’s your name?”

  “Salvatore,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? Good to meet ya, Sal.”

  “No, my name is Salvatore, not Sal,” he said. Salvatore brushed the dirt off of his clothes. “What are your names?”

  “I’m Tony, and this here’s Vincent.”

  “Why ya so proper and shit?” Vincent asked.